


Electric Sheep

by jeahtastic



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode Tag, M/M, but at least he has tyrell, elliot is a certified basket case, eps2.2_init_1.asec, murderous swedish lizard man x junkie hacker, s2e4, where tf is tyrell wellick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7665562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeahtastic/pseuds/jeahtastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyrell pays Elliot a visit.</p>
<p>
  <i>Canon compliant, takes place sometime around S2E4 ("eps2.2_init_1.asec")</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Electric Sheep

Routine is safe. It's necessary. 

Just the soft scratch of lead against paper as Elliot records another methodical day, identical to the last. Pages and pages, repeating in his own personal Groundhog Day - it sparks a fragile hope that he pushes to the rear of his mind out of fear, a protective instinct.

_Hiding secrets from yourself is an effort in futility, Elliot._

Shut up.

10:56PM - Time for bed.

No screens to keep him up late into the night. He doesn't miss their artificial glow.

He closes his eyes, willing the darkness around him to swallow him whole, flood his insides until there's no room for anything else, a different kind of numbness that he craves. He's sinking deeper and deeper, past the thin slice of his mattress, straight through the floor, when a presence brings him back to body like a rubber band snapping.

Someone else is in his room.

A hand covers his mouth. He can't see, can't breathe. A weight bears down on him, pressure on his neck and chest. A hiss in his ear- " _Elliott._ ”

It’s not the voice he’s expecting.

All at once the fight leaves him and he's shocked still. The hand over his mouth slowly lifts away as if anticipating a shout but the first sound Elliot makes is hardly above a whisper: “No.”

Light from the window creeps in and like a mirage coming into focus, the face of Tyrell Wellick materializes inches from his own. Clean-shaven, hair pristine, and very much alive.

“No.” Elliot repeats. Then again, louder, building into a panicked crescendo until Tyrell slaps a hand over his lips again. The fight returns full force and Elliot shoves at Tyrell- no, at the hallucination, the delusion, just another manifestation of _him_.

“Stop. Elliot, _stop_.” Tyrell sits on his chest, easily pinning him, the hand not muffling Elliott's screams busy batting away his futile punches. “Listen to me, we don't have much time. Look at me!”

Fingers grasp Elliott's chin, hard enough to bruise. Elliot keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling, streaked with shadows from the window cage- he’s a basket case, it's been official for a while now, but that doesn't mean he has to look his own crazy in the eye. He refuses to give it that power, he can control this, he _has control_ -

“Oh, Elliot.” The grip on his chin relaxes into a gentle hold, thumb running absentmindedly over his jaw. “We both know, control is an illusion.”

“Why are you...here?”

“Because you need me.”

“I don't.” Elliot couldn't resist meeting Tyrell’s eyes, which were as blue as he remembers even in the dim light. And why wouldn't they be- if all of this is in his head. “The last thing I need is another goddamn ghost.”

Tyrell tilts his head, studying Elliot in the way he does, like he's surprised and thrilled about it. “Is that what you think I am? A ghost?” Tyrell leans in, out of the light from the window. “Like _him_?”

“You _are_ him.”

Tyrell throws his head back to laugh, once more bathed in the glow of the streetlamp. “Do you think I'm dead? Is that why I'm a ghost?”

Elliott looks away. The very real possibility of Tyrell buried six feet under somewhere has plagued him ever since he woke up in that parking lot. Krista’s right. You can only avoid your own conscience for so long before it show up at your mom's house, demanding your attention. 

Tyrell cups his hands around Elliott's face. “You think you killed me.”

No.

“You think... _he_ killed me?”

Elliott tries to swallow past the lump in his throat, clogged with cement and fear.

“You know all about fear, don't you, Elliot?” Tyrell lowers himself until he's pressed nose to nose. “Are you afraid?”

There's no room for air between them. How will Elliot breathe? Maybe he won't. Maybe he's the ghost. “What am I afraid of?”

When the kiss comes, it's expected. Finally, his mind shows him something he wants for once, a concept in itself terrifying. He sighs into it.

The kiss ends slowly and without fanfare. It takes a second for Elliot to realize Tyrell is talking again, asking: “Are you afraid?”

“Of what?”

“Of what you're capable of. Of what you'll do to accomplish your goals.” Tyrell smiles. “Like me.”

Instead of answering, Elliot pulls him down again. Hands trail down Elliott's chest, around his slim waist, into his pants. It doesn't take much for his breath to quicken, heart fluttering a staccato beat. Eyes squeezed shut but he knows what he'll see: Tyrell staring back, open face, full of--

“Wonder.” Tyrell laughs. “Did you feel the same when you murdered me?”

Elliot comes with a whimper, like an injured animal on its last leg. He couldn't hold back a sob, then another, growing and growing until they wreck whatever is left of him.

He dry heaves over the side of the bed but nothing comes up. A hand settles on the back of his neck, soothing. Fingers run through his hair and it would be so easy, so simple to lean into the touch and let himself have this. Why not?

People live to sedate themselves. Elliot has sedation handed to him on a silver platter: a state of permanent nothingness. The absence of knowing. Losing time forever.

Will Tyrell be there, in that deep black void? Tempting.

“That's not what you want, Elliot.”

“I guess you know all about what I want.”

“I do.” Tyrell pulls him back from the edge of the bed, flushed against his chest. “That's why I'm here.”

“To convince me to give in?” Elliot scoffs, head lolling against Tyrell’s shoulder. There's an eerie calm in his bones.

_You want to unburden yourself? Go jerk off._

Maybe he had a point there.

“Focus, Elliot.” Taps against his cheek. “We don't have much time.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

In lieu of answering, Tyrell lowers him onto the bed and then lies down next to him, so close they're sharing a pillow.

Tyrell. His eyes are bright, digital in their glow. Soft breaths that Elliot can feel against his lips. Soft hair that parts easily between his fingers.

In this moment, more than anything, Elliot wishes this was real. There are days when his loneliness overwhelms him. Right now it feels like a physical pain, sharp in his chest, and tears are welling up again before he could stop it.

He falls asleep to the blurry image of Tyrell and the press of lips against his forehead.

 

* * *

 

Elliot wakes up alone. 

The room is dark, curtains pulled tightly shut. He takes a deep breath and then one more for good measure before slowly beginning his daily routine.

Opening his journal to record the first entry of the day, he discovers three lines of text already written.

 

_Don't worry._

_We'll find each other again._

_We always do._

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to convey Elliot's tone via third person POV, was it alright? 
> 
> talk tyrelliot w/ me on [tumblr](http://jeahtastic.tumblr.com/) (or [twitter](https://twitter.com/jeahtastic) \- which I just started using for the sole purpose of liveblogging Mr Robot)


End file.
